I had another dream with my mother, and I was shaking and screaming. When I woke up, I still felt an unstoppable heart, as if the whole body had been in the air. I still wanted to shout, but I woke up and completely forgot what I was gonna shout. My family isn't in harmony. It's been fighting for a good part of the time. And if I were to be judged, I would also be unkind, because my conversation with my mother often turned into a cry, and I sometimes fell and punched the wall. One time I was in a rental house near high school, where my parents were, and my mother was talking to me, and she said, "I lifted up the table," and then my dad started yelling at me, and I ran into the kitchen and tried to jump off the 18th floor, and I just touched the window and was held by my very responsive dad.
My parents are different from many others. When I was young, my parents treated me like I was alone. As I grow older, I increasingly feel that my parents have no specific expectations of me, and I just have to live. They have only the most universal demands on me, such as being kind to others, and not being a sinner. When I speak to my parents as a child, I talk to them, and I talk to them like two people, not as many people say. My parents would have given me a lot of company.
Besides, I don't care about problems such as getting married and having kids, buying a house and a car, stabilizing jobs. Because social values kidnap a person, most are embodied in their parents. If parents don't care about others' eyes, they almost stop thinking about them.
I'm not writing about my family being superior to others. I want to express my doubts. Because the contradictions that I have obtained from others and from my parents do not remind me of why I keep arguing with my mother.
In my memory, my argument with my mother was completely blank, and I only remember the sound, the act, the smell, but I can't remember what words we're talking about at all, as if my argument with my mother had never been about anything but voices of unknown meaning, not anything specific. It's like I'm a hard drive, and the text in my complete memory was extracted and completely deleted.
I never volunteered to remember my mother and I had a fight. It was only in 2021 that I stopped arguing with my mother. But I sometimes have dreams of fighting with my mother, which makes me have to remember that feeling. I feel like I know what I'm shouting in my dreams and what my mother's shouting is. But once I wake up, I'll forget immediately that there's only restless aftershocks.
Actually, I talked to my mom about it, and she said it was because I don't do homework, fights, etc. But I remember not. But I remember nothing but that I spent so much time and energy fighting with my mother, hurting each other, and doing everything I could to do, but it's amazing that I'm forgetting everything now and that there is no clue to remember at all. I feel helpless about my memory.
Besides, I feel guilty. I forgot all the arguments with my mother. But I remember everything else. I remember saying that I hurt my mother. Although I remember my mother hurt me.
I used to fantasize that I was a Superman, and I wanted to be Superman in my unconscious. I feel pain at all the qualities of my dissatisfaction, and I feel pain at all the things I have done that I am not satisfied with, and I must change. I have turned into an image of my own. I was the ideal to be superhuman, never to blame myself, never to make meaningless memories, to live in the real sense of the word, to act for others and for myself every moment, and not to think of myself more than others. And the eyes as a torch, so that they may distinguish between good and evil. Despite the absence of great goals, efforts have been made for everyone ' s life and for the advancement of civilization. Wait, wait, wait.
That means that I should have forced, paranoid symptoms.
I've often been pretentious, and it's so common that I want to think that I'm different from others, and I want to think that I have great illness and wonderful ideas, and I've been telling myself that. Now I'm beginning to realize I'm nothing special.
I have come to realize that I may now be in a different state simply because I have always felt like I had to suffer and had no way out, slowly suffocating. There is no implication of the legacy of the past being independent. It's probably also the feeling of so-called youth loss that everybody's going through as a child, and it's also the love of the Daiyu funeral, and it's probably the result of a combination of events that have led to some symptoms of my mental illness, such as the coercion that I ask to be a Superman. This is a normal response to the experience of some pathogens in ordinary life, which does not mean that I am, as I thought before, a fairy who alone is being misunderstood and marginalized.
I wrote down things like that I've seen on marketing a million times. Marketing numbers are used to spread emotions by packaging simple and common problems.
I'm unemployed now. I sometimes want my life. If I can get scientific treatment and guidance from an early age, I may have a completely different life. I may not have used painting as the only exit since I was a kid, I might have worked in his unit with my dad, I might have studied mechanics at college, I had a graduate student in school, and I might have opened a small restaurant at home. Of course, this is not necessarily happier than it is now, but it is very different.
When I was a kid, I lived in the family building of the State Enterprise. This neighborhood is something I remember feeling happy about. It's a strange place for security, and there's never been a case. The elderly, who lived in large numbers without problems, wandered downstairs and also shoveled a piece of their respective public lawn downstairs to grow food. Workers are not as tired as current workers, male workers are off work playing cards, playing ball or something, and female workers are not staying in the community and are out shopping. Children like me wander around the whole family building. There are now a lot fewer older people, workers and children in the community. It is estimated that our society has become more civilized, creating a quiet and harmonious urban landscape.
There's an old lady in the next building who planted a cherry tree on the lawn, and I used to steal it with my classmates, and when she saw it, she ran out and yelled at the street. She kept chickens downstairs, I beat her, and then she came to my house and my mom.
L's very noisy in the small neighborhood. When she was little, she said she liked a very honest little boy and fell in love with him. It didn't take long to break up. She later accumulated a lot of relationships.
If there's a question to describe her, it's a paper exam. She's in love. Her parents almost ignored her, and she was very dependent on her grandmother, who runs the commissary. Her parents were divorced, and she told the children about her, which became a legend. She said she told her parents to either make me happy or give me half a million to buy happiness.
A told me to study painting in his studio, and then L went with A. I'm good at it at first. She likes to sharpen the pen. Later, she spent more and more time out there with boys who were fighting, and did not come to the studio to paint. And one day I became the so-called good boy, and one day she came by the studio, and the teacher pointed at my painting, and complained that she didn't come to paint, and said, "Look at what Scottine has done."
A and I have been cold to her for a while, and she pushes down our bikes and destroys them. She did it to get attention. Then she went out of her way and once buried several nails in the A seat, and A and I were very angry. I felt like a.
At second grade, A may have liked L, but I was very ashamed of L, and I told A I could do it in a minute. I would like to express my contempt for L, but A is not happy that I am provoking him. So I was upset, too, and I offered to bet him 20 bucks I could be in love with L. Then A found B to help him. A few days later, I heard that I was forced by B. A found 20 bucks and I didn't give it to him and I didn't talk. He was scolding me all that time. Then I remembered it was painful, not as a process of painful events, but as my own.
I met him a long time ago. At the time, I was in college and L took the art test and came to my university to take the art exam, and she asked if I could help her with the painting. After the meeting, she's become a very friendly person, and she's pretty. I invited her to dinner in the cafeteria at noon, and she kept talking, and I responded. I remember the only compliment she had that day when I asked for cigarettes, and I gave her Jade Creek, and she was surprised. I've been smoking cheap cigarettes for two days, trying to change my taste and buy a box of Jade Creek.
I studied painting because I used to go to the lake to catch shrimp when I was a kid, and my parents were afraid that I would drown, and I didn't have enough time to watch over me, and I just like to paint, so I was stuck in a half-career and half-painting tutorial. The teacher was amateur, and I was introduced to his studio.
The painting room is opened by a pair of fathers and sons. The son is about 30 years old, called J. Fathers and sons like to draw country paintings and tigers. Their father and son had a temper and often fought in the studio, with a particularly high volume. The old man is said to have an ex-wife and an ex-wife with a son who works in music and graduated from the Central Music Academy. The old man also had a studio on Walk Street, selling paintings, but he was always teaching for his son. The old man is obviously better than his son. I went about 2010, and the country's art education was beginning to deform, and the son was obviously affected by those tests. Of course, Western painting education in our country is a huge problem, which involves the artists of our country's early years, and of course I will not talk about it.
Soon after I came here, J took part-time graduate studies at Central American. He worked very hard to market his status as a graduate student, adding two words to the front door of the studio. He often showed students a picture of him and his mentor, and he often boasted about how great his mentor was. He thinks he's in the "Teacher", and his graduate students are his "Sister and Sister" and they all respect their mentors very much. He speaks quite well of the American school of thought.
His motto is, "Turn in the water or go back". He taught students that it was important to work hard to paint and climb upwards and to work hard to gain more fame and respect for themselves.
I got good grades in junior high. I got the best high school in Tangshan. J wants me to take the art exam. I don't want to. Then J called my mom as soon as he was free, and my mom couldn't stand her, and she told me to take an exam or I did.
I came home after my high examination and drew a plaster in his studio for about two weeks, during which time I also helped him with his students. Before I went to college, he invited me to dinner and stuffed me with $500. Later, he opened the college studio and asked me to work with him, and I refused, because I felt like I didn't fit in with him. But then he called me several times and told me how to draw when I was a kid. I was embarrassed to refuse him again several times.
The Self-Reflection Programme is a deep-seated self-discovery that encompasses the value and organization of personal memory, dreams and various life-story pieces. Through this plan, we hope to join you in building a shared collective unconscious that will allow us to travel together in an infinite ocean. The plan encourages us to look back at our experiences and to combine the fragmented memories and dreams into a meaningful story in order to better understand ourselves, their past and their future. By sharing and sharing these precious pieces, we can build deeper links and jointly explore the complexity and beauty of human life.
Join the plan.
Welcome to the paper.
Readers
Together.
Review of prior periods
BREAK AWAY
A self-inflicted program called "Tangshan Youth - History of Violence"
Stetting.
Self-inflicted material program, blood dreams and sea tires.
The woods.
I can't castrate myself. Dream.
Peaches.